• Go – the farthest land waits just beyond the horizon, towards a setting sun that will never rise on another side. A man that dreams, a child that sleeps, a woman that cries; all fade into the endless pink that streaks across the sky as it returns to its going coming.
    If there is a way to end the life that follows the yellow circle, tell me so that I may follow its direction; surely, there is another shape that lies in the reflection of the sea that I set to sail. Surely there is another meaning to find that can never be placed in any book, or grabbed by any mind.

    Come – the farthest land beckons its weary towards the sitting place, high on a hill, where they can rest at last. Oh, the resting place - that is above all which is cruel and tiring; it is terrible yet welcoming, close to the sky and above the realities of the city.

    Forebode – a blinking sky strewn with nothing but glass, with the city of greed and shine below; I reach my hand toward it, but pull back at its hard cool. My eyes stare back at me, wondering and scared…my eyes stare back at me, and the eyes of the endless blink back again, with the eyes of those that walked with me, towards me, and away, with the city of the ground before them.

    Trapped between the two – yet calling – without choice, without a stand, I look towards the sky and wait.